Conrad blushes away from my comment, I think he’s still having a hard time accepting that Enid and Mace’s life is better with him in it.
The next hours fly by as we watch Hayden open gifts, run around with the other kids, and enjoy food. At some point, Tatum scoops Hayden up from the living room, rushing to his nursery after making a quick stop by Darcy. She moves around the kitchen, getting an area ready for his smash cake, looking back toward the nursery every once in a while.
“If everyone wants to gather around the island, we’re going to do Hayden’s cake once Tatum gets him changed.” Darcy’s voice carries through the area, and we all move together to join her near the kitchen.
Kodi walks toward Darcy, keeping her facing away from the hallway, which is weird because I imagine she’d want to see her son come out for his first cake smash. That is until Tatum steps out of the hallway, setting Hayden on the ground as he whispers something to his son before sending him toward Darcy. I grab Collins’ hand and Sin’s, squeezing the life out of them as the realization of what’s happening falls over the room.
Hayden pulls on the end of Darcy’s dress, and she turns, picking him up off the ground, “Hey bud, I thought you were supposed t—” and sees Tatum on one knee behind her.
Tatum proposes, and we try to keep our excitement hushed, although I’m sure they hear us shout “Oh my God!” and by the end, we are all in tears. Turns out the guys and Kodi knew what was happening, but the rest of us were left in the dark so that Darcy’s surprise wouldn’t be ruined.
I’m once again reminded that I may have missed out on two of my best friends’ big news today if I hadn’t walked away from Benji all those months ago.
Chapter 21
Natural Feeling
Collins
As we park in front of my childhood home, every emotion under the sun is pulsing beneath my veins. My hand taps away on the steering wheel as I ponder if we should just turn around and drive back to my place.
Warmth envelops my hand, and Harley draws my attention away from the thoughts, “It’ll be okay. They’re excited to see you, it might be awkward at first, but I think that’s to be expected. Plus, I’ll be here, ready to support you in whatever way you need.”
“Okay, it’s weird being back here after all this time.”
“That’s a natural feeling too. Hopefully, it can feel like home again for you soon.”
“I already have a home and it’s with you,” I tell her, a pink hue paints the apples of her cheeks, and she gives me that shy smile I love so much.
“Maybe this can feel like a happy place again. Better?”
“I’ll take it. Let’s go, I think I’ve stalled enough.” I hop out of the truck and jog around to help Harley out. Immediately taking her hand, to keep me grounded as we approach the brick homewith a bright blue front door that mom insisted was a stylistic choice.
I knock twice, and the door swings open almost immediately. We’re greeted by my parents and the smells of what I think is homemade spaghetti—something my mom cooked often when we were growing up, even shredding a block of parmesan herself.
Mom’s lip begins to quiver immediately, and my dads grip around her arm tightens in support.
“Hi.” I try to smile at them, but my head feels foggy, I know I’m here with them but it doesn’t feel real.
“Hi! You made it.” While her lip still quivers, my mom smiles back at me. She opens her arms to me, and I don’t know if I can handle her arms around me but I don’t want to deny her this moment. Harley gently squeezes my hand, encouraging me before letting it go so I can step forward into my mom’s embrace.
“Hello, Mr. McKee. I’m Harley.” Harley introduces herself to my dad while my mom clutches me closely like I may slip through her fingers, like my brother did all those years ago.
“Francis, honey I think you might be suffocating him,” my dad teases.
“Oh, right, sorry.” She steps back wiping her hands down her apron, “supper is just about ready if you all want to have a seat at the dining table.”
“Do you need any help?” Harley offers.
“No, sweetie but thank you.” Mom responds with a tenderness in her voice, like she can already tell the type of person Harley is and that she’s perfect for me. How can she know that when she doesn’t even know me anymore? I’m not quite sure, maybe mother'’s intuition.
Mom turns on her heel, heading to the kitchen and my father follows closely behind her, I assume, ensuring she’s okay and giving me a moment to process as well. I grasp Harley’s handagain, guiding her further into the house and observing all of the details. Honestly, it seems as if nothing’s changed, pictures line the walls, it smells the same—clean like lemons, and the only change I’ve noticed is they’ve gotten a new couch.
“It’s basically the same,” I observe.
“A home well-loved and lived in doesn’t need constant changing,” Harley responds. I think her underlying message is that when people go through a traumatic experience, they hang on to every thread of that old life. The life where that person was still around, or when they hadn’t gone through that experience.
We continue further into the home, veering right into the dining room, where I pull out Harley’s seat, taking the one beside her.
